


New Friends and Near Death Experiences

by mini_yellow_oranges



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (?), AU, F/M, First Meeting, Gen, Modern Day, No Beta, flowershop, not much else to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27545713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_yellow_oranges/pseuds/mini_yellow_oranges
Summary: New Friends and Near Death Experiences (two phrases that Should Not go together)An Enola Holmes and Tewksbury meeting in a flowershop in modern times AU.
Relationships: Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	New Friends and Near Death Experiences

She was out of breath. Panting, puffing, breaths coming out in short gasps. Panic clouded every fiber of her being, an icy trickling from her brain down her spine, to her lungs, clouding her eyesight until she could only feel her feet smacking against the hard cobblestoned ground.

 _There_!

She rushed into a little shop, bell tingling, and ducked behind a giant box of plants, taking a few moments to catch her breath. The first thing that registered in her mind once her heart had stopped racing as much was the coolness of the place. It chilled her skin as she took deep breaths. 

Which was the second thing that her mind picked up on- the overpowering scent of different flora all at once, causing her to smile faintly. _At a time such as this_?

And then she remembered why she was here. 

She crept up slowly from behind the box— a planter for the flowers, she realized— and looked nervously around. Hopefully no one was here. 

Which is when, of course, she saw a man— no, _boy_ — blinking owlishly at her from behind a counter. 

_Ah_ , a distant part of her brain thought. _A flower shop_ . Most of her brain, however, was flooded with the same panic that had consumed her just moments ago, busy assessing the person. _Just a boy_ , she thought with relief. _No one else_. 

Her eyes darted back to the door. Maybe she could make her escape with no one noticing and get back—

“What are you doing?” 

She jumped, whirling back around to the boy.

“SHHH! You’ll make— He’ll be—” she composed herself. She didn’t stutter. She cleared her throat. “I’m undercover,” she said, matter-of-factly.

The boy’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Come to the back,” he said. “It’s a lot less inconspicuous.” 

No hesitation. She liked the looks of him.

They scurried into the back room. It was dingy, dusty, and dirt-filled, and the only light was let through the door itself. She liked this place. 

She shifted around some dirty sacks of fertilizer and stood standing over a small hiding place. Quick getaway, you know?

“So?”

“So what?”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” The boy asked.

She hummed in consideration. “Nope.”

“At least a thank you, maybe?”

“Thank you for saving my life.” It was hard to tell if that was sarcasm or not.

“Tewksbury,” he grinned.

“What?”

“Tewksbury,” he repeated, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh. ...Elizabeth... Haddon.” She shook his hand, firm, and the smile he gave her let her know he knew she wasn’t being completely truthful to him. They both brushed still equally dirty hands on whatever was available— for her, her skirts, and him, a handkerchief. A fine one at that too. 

She narrowed her eyes as she took in his outfit. White shirt, funny little tie. Finely tailored waistcoat and coat (although his tan overcoat was dirty and shabby), pressed pants and leather shoes. All with smudges of dirt of course. _Dark floppy hair, twinkly eyes, a seemingly ever-present smile_ , a distant part of her brain noticed. _Shut up_ , she told it. She didn’t have time for this.

“Are you going to tell me who you really are?” she asked. 

“Are you?” he quipped back. But he smiled, and followed it up with, “Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilwether, pleased to make your acquaintance,” and a short bow.

Her eyebrow quirked in surprise. “And what is a Viscount such as yourself doing in a flower shop?”

“Matthew lets me stay sometimes when I’m in town. Let’s me man the counter while he’s off doing… whatever,” he said, flapping his hand in a vague circle at the end.

“Oh.” She looked around, feeling a little bored, wondering if it was safe to go out.

“Are you really not going to tell the person who saved your life what you were doing?”

“Oh, fine,” she said after a while, rolling her eyes. _This guy just doesn’t take a break_ , _huh_? “I was running away from a murderer.”

“You _what_?” he yelped.

“Shhh!” she shushed loudly.

“You know, I don’t think the murderer is anywhere near,” he whispered. 

She rolled her eyes yet again. “Well, I have to expect the unexpected.”

“Right.”

There was silence for a few moments. “Well?” she asked. “Don’t you have any work to do?”

“Not really. It’s been pretty boring all day,” he grinned. “Which is how I’d prefer it at the moment,” he said.

She took the bait. “Why?” She knew it was a mistake, but she could never let a mystery go unsolved, no matter how trivial it may be.

But he just shrugged and smiled, eyeing her. Vaguely, it reminded her of the phrase “I won’t tell if you won’t tell”. Which was fair, she grouched. 

She pondered for a moment. 

“Enola Holmes,” she said strongly, holding out her hand. “Lady detective.”

Now, she knew how strange this whole situation must be for him. Some random girl, running into his shop, at sundown, hiding behind some plants. Claiming she was going to die and was running from a murderer. Asking to hide, not giving him her proper name, and then saying she’s a lady detective. Oh and—

“Holmes like… Sherlock Holmes?” he asked, shaking her hand. Again, no surprise, she noticed. The only shock was from her relation to Sherlock Holmes. 

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s my brother. A bothersome one at that, too.” She didn’t usually speak out against her brother (to strangers, at least) but constantly being compared to her older brother takes its toll. Even more so when you’re _trying_ to make a name for yourself in the same profession, in which Sherlock Holmes is undoubtedly the best and the world’s greatest at. And you’re, oh you know, only sixteen years old. Still, shouldn’t she deserve at least a little spot in the sun, especially after being chased by murderers left and right? 

Which brings her back to where she was. 

“Anyways, I’m sure you can go… tend to the plants or whatever,” she waved her hand vaguely, “and warn me if he comes back.”

Tewksbury flopped on a sack next to her. 

“No can do, Enola Holmes. You’re stuck with me,” he grinned.

And though she grumbled about ‘stupid lords’ and ‘viscounts’ and ‘soft, pampered, flowery boys’, she grudgingly told him tales of her adventures, hiding her excitement that someone was interested in her endeavors while most scoffed and rolled an eye. And if she left far later than was necessary, and took to visiting the flower shop more frequently than just to hide in, well, then, that wasn’t particularly anyone else’s business. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Holmesbury fic and certainly not the last! 
> 
> Seriously. I wrote this one and another one in the span of two days, and then I outlined another one a week later (someone please come save me). 
> 
> Also I have yet to edit the second one so expect that sometime in the near future. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> :)
> 
> Edit: I fixed all the punctuation errors, have fun!


End file.
